Those Who Don't Learn From Their History
by Ravenwoodwitch
Summary: James Sirus Potter hates Slytherin, and wonders why it even exists. He's been demonstrating his ire in the form of pranks, and discovers a book in the Headmistress's office that proves his situation with Scorpio isn't so new. Seems the Founders of Hogwarts didn't exist as harmoniously as everyone believed, but why? And what can James do that they couldn't? Rated T for safety.
1. Dear Diary

Hey everybody! After reviewing and reading so many stories, I felt like it was finally my time for a little story. Remember, I really appriciate reviews and contsructive critisicm, even just a "it was nice" makes me feel good.

Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and settings belong to J.K Rowling. I own Mr. Clark only.

_**I**_

_**Dear Diary**_

You know you've spent too much time somewhere when you start to memorize the most mundane of things about it. James Sirus Potter could now recite the grain patterns on the Headmistresses desk. On his tenth visit (would have been more, but the new caretaker didn't know the secret tunnels as well as the last one) James began to believe that he'd taken this a step too far.

He imagined that Professor McGonagall believed that as well, judging by her frown. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was famous for her death-glares, and she was aiming one directly at him in that moment. If she had a good reason or not to do so was debatable, but the teen could see her side of the argument. At 14, he was slowly starting to tag-team with his older cousin, Fred Weasley, in antics that would have made their late uncle proud. Normally, James preferred to simply direct Fred, but that changed when James agreed to put a few harmless charms in the dungeon hall at the beginning of their fourth year. James had said it was to be a one-time deal, but Fred always had some new idea.

Not that he didn't come up with a few ideas of his own…Fred didn't have to agree to them.

James tore his eyes of the desk and back to his cross Headmistress. Her sharp green eyes had not suffered with age, and still bore into his through her spectacles. She was still a long woman with emerald green robes and a face that somehow looked more intimidating with the addition of the wrinkles around the mouth and eyes. The only other sign of her age was her hair, the jet-black locks now streaked with silver still bound up in the professional bun at the top of her head. She had been tapping her nails on the desk in his silence, and James figured he couldn't stall this much longer. While he couldn't meet her direct stare, he managed to turn his gaze to the top of her head.

"Well Mr. Potter?" McGonagall said.

"Well what, Professor?" James asked.

McGonagall looked surprised. "No round-about excuse this time? That's an improvement."

"Well I'm kind of tired Professor. How am I supposed to think of one?"

Her frown deepened. James felt his stomach lurch when she reached into one of many drawers on the large, mahogany desk and retrieved a stack of yellow parchment papers. She slapped them in front of James and clasped her hands on her desk. She stared at him in silence, expecting him to take in the objects in front of him, and the huge threat they represented. James played dumb, staring between the stack of parchment and McGonagall with a blank expression, as if this was all so new. McGonagall visibly twitched, and leaned forward on her desk.

"These are yours, Mr. Potter." McGonagall said, "Records of the incidents instigated, implemented, and traced back to you. This makes ten all together. I could have you expelled for this Mr. Potter. Does that mean _anything_ to you?"

James felt the first spike of panic rise from his toes to his shaggy black hair. If Mother or Father found about any more of these incidents, if they saw his sorry face on the Hogwarts Express this early, there would be murder most foul at King's Cross Station. He turned his panicked gaze back to his professor, his soft green eyes pleading for some kind of Middle Ground. McGonagall faltered a moment, her face losing a bit of its edge. James felt the first few chimes of hope. Maybe she wouldn't condemn him to death-by-parental-figures after all.

"Mr. Potter," she said slowly, "None of this is customary for you. If something's bothering you, or you're in any sort of trouble, I can only help if you tell me what it is…"

And just like that it was gone.

James rolled his eyes. "I _cause _problems, Professor. I don't live with them."

"What then, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall sighed. "What gave you the foolish idea to use unsupervised magic in that classroom?"

James smiled ruefully. "Kicks?"

"Doubtful," McGonagall said, "the five-alarm charm is a complicated jinx; hardly a spell done in the spur of the moment."

"I thought Professor Binns needed a wakeup call," James said with a laugh, "and so did the rest of the class!"

"Yes, about the students," McGonagall said sternly, "your little prank disrupted their learning, and denied them their whole class period."

James sighed in irritation, his own brows knitting together.

"Professor, it's Slytherin!" James said, "They hate Gryffindor, and I was just returning the favor. It's not like they were paying attention anyway; no one does in that class! And how was I supposed to know Ravenclaw was in there too?"

"By your schedule?"

James bit his lip, and sank back into his chair. "Aw, who reads those anyway."

"That attitude will earn you trouble, Mr. Potter." McGonagall said with firm authority, "Your stunt will cost you fifty points from Gryffindor house."

"Fifty?!" James jerked upright in alarm. "_Fifty_?!"

"And detention in the trophy room for the week." McGonagall said sharply, "Thank your stars that I don't send you home."

Her door was opened with a slam, and the new Hogwarts caretaker entered the office. He was at least 25, and so tall that he had to stoop under McGonagall's doorway just to get inside. His boxed chin was covered in tufts of thick black stubble matching the short black hair on his head, but the most curious feature was the large scar going across his left eye. This mark spawned several rumors among the younger students; most of them involved a short tempered Hippogriff. James favored the one involving a kidnapped Hippogriff egg because it made Mr. Clark seem more daring than grumpy.

"Minister of Magic's just arrived Ma'am." Clark's voice was gruff, and the tone gave the very direct impression that nonsense would not be tolerated.

"More security checks no doubt," McGonagall said, putting the parchment back in her desk, "There is only so many times I can assure the Minister that we are not housing another dark wizard."

She rose to her feet with more speed and grace than James would accredit to a woman her age. Green robes whirling about her, she strode purposefully to the door. She stopped dead in her tracks when she reached the doorframe, and pivoted back around to face the Gryffindor Student with one final warning glare.

"Nothing touched, disturbed, charmed, jinxed, I don't even want to see it _cleaner_ Mr. Potter. Are we clear?"

"Yes Professor."

McGonagall turned back around. Her door closed behind her, and James heard the grinding stone of the eagle twirling the Headmistress and Clark back up to the third floor. He waited three seconds before slumping in the wooden chair with a sigh of frustration.

Either McGonagall really was going blind, or his actions were not as blatantly obvious as he thought. Of course he had known the Slytherins were having a dual class with Ravenclaw; Fred had checked the roster himself. He had been counting on the presence of the Ravenclaw students the entire time he had cast the charms. But what he hadn't been counting on was costing his entire house fifty points with the house cup drawing so close. Albus, Lilly and Rose were going to be so ticked…

"That's so unfair! They had it coming," he said to no one. "Why does Slytherin house even exist? Every dark witch and wizard they drone about came from that house, and got a standing ovation on arrival! Can't we just shuck them all and be done with it?!"

Of course, his angry inquiry was only answered with the continual drone of several snoring headmasters. While James had not expected a response, the lack of one still left him feeling ignored. He let out another ragged sigh and ran an exasperated hand through his jet black hair. Thinking about the Slytherins just made his head hurt, and he ached for some form of distraction. Lazily glancing about, he settled back into the creaking wooden chair and halted his gaze on the newest additions to the gallery: Professor Severus Snape, and Professor Albus Dumbledore.

Snape's portrait was a bit more recent, added on several requests (father had been one of them) after the potions master's true intentions had been made public information thanks to the Daily Prophet. Snape's oil-preserved features were just as intimidating as they were in life, and looked extremely annoyed. His intense eyes narrowed at the youth precariously, and James began to wonder if the painting felt the same attachment to Slytherin as the real professor.

'Dumbledore', however, was smiling softly under his spectacles.

"Youth's burning flame."He chuckled."How nostalgic it is."

James grunted sourly.

Dumbledore's face remained clam, but took on a sympathetic color. "Your mind must feel quite strained. Supporting a secret alone is quite laborious."

James whirled around to face the fallen Headmaster. "So now you're spying on me, great."

"Not much else to do I'm afraid." The old Headmaster chuckled, "Though your question is a perfect thought-exercise. Alas, it's answer cannot be expressed with one tongue."

"Then sprout five; Uncle George made a whole hobby out of that."

'Dumbledore' took his eyes off the boy and slowly turned back to his old desk, putting a hand to his long silver beard in thought.

"Your record sounds intimidating," he noted, "and that pile of reports could be quite cumbersome to explain away."

_Thanks for reminding me_, James thought bitterly, slumping back down his chair pouting. While it was entirely possible to make that parchment stack vanish into the either, McGonagall would find him like a mischief-seeking-missile (she always did). The idea of Mother catching him jinxing the classroom, and covering up the rest of his shenanigans made him visibly flinch. Mummy Ginerva had no patience for liars, and James had no intention to see if the rumors about her skill with the Bat-Boogey Jinx were true.

"So?" James said. "What can I do about it?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Nothing I'm afraid. However, It may be wise for you to open that drawer all the same."

"What?" James quirked a brow. "That's breaking and entering!"

"True, "the portrait said, "but it's also true that the answer to your question got lost in that drawer; I placed it there myself."

James grunted in response. He gazed back at the desk, spotting the tips of the referral slips sticking out of the drawer. The coarse yellow parchment stood in deep contrast to the deep brown of the desk, making the incriminating papers as hard to ignore as a flashing neon arrow. James knew better than to poke his head in private property (not so much private conversations), but it seemed like fate was pushing him way too close to the forbidden zone. But he had already gotten in enough trouble, and used all of his willpower to stay in his seat. He should simply forget that the papers even existed, and instead work on what he was going to tell his father in a few hours.

"Go on then, what's stopping you?"

The smooth voice came from behind the Headmistress' desk. Just left of the shelves, four portraits were hidden behind the semi-see-through red curtain; two male, two female. The voice that spoke up was one of the males, on James' far left. It sounded secretive to the teen, but also very challenging. The shadow of the speaker resembled a monkey, head very round, and ears very large. He crossed his arms behind the sheer red fabric, and stroked a long beard with thin fingers.

"You asked the question," the voice said, "either dig up the answer yourself, or drop it all together. You seem to have a disregard for the rules anyway, why let them stop you now?"

"…oh to hell with it." James sprung up from his chair and rounded the left corner of the desk.

Without really thinking, he reached down and wrenched open the drawer. His torso was hit with an explosion of green gas that smelled of rotten eggs, and his hands had been dyed bright red. The teen swore, but quickly forgot that he was marked for burglary when he saw the yellow parchment through the noxious gas. James dug out the parchment slips and quickly scanned a few lines. His name was printed in dark green ink, and the contents of each slip left him feeling weaker and sicker. Each page spoke of the jinxs, curses, and overall brawls he'd been a part of for all _twenty _of his misadventures. But, beyond the fact that the Headmistress was more all-knowing than James initially believed, there seemed to be nothing in the documents that even remotely answered his question regarding the Slytherins.

"You got my fingers colored guilty for this?!" he shouted in frustration, slamming the pile down on the desk and slumping back in the chair. "Are you gonna help me, or is this some stupid trick to make me feel guilty?"

"Tricks are for children." The hulking male portrait said, loudly, on the far right. "What Gryffindor gives up on the first try?"

"Think hard," a stiff female in the middle spoke next, "a riddle is but a puzzle of language, with the key laying in context."

"You can do this. "The last voice, the round female, sounded soothing. "It's not as if you're stealing anything, so there's no need to rush."

_But I hate riddles_, James moaned in his head. He opted not to agonize over the word puzzle, and checked the drawer for other items instead. He yanked the wooden drawer open wider, and in the process felt something wedged between the drawer and the top of the desk drop down. James cautiously reached into the drawer, wary of another curse, and let his fingers brush against an old leather bound book before he retrieved it from the depths. The book was dyed black, with the Hogwarts emblem etched onto the front. The pages looked old, yellow with age, with various bits of paper flatted to perfect smoothness between pages. He set the text down and used the tip of a quill to open the cover. Satisfied when nothing else shot at him, he dropped the quill and began to flip carefully through a few of the thin pages. Almost each had a date on the top, with had written text done in a very old script. The spelling was almost indistinguishable, and James had to squint to make out the simplest phrase. He flipped back to the beginning, and attempted to read the date.

"989 A.D," he said, his brow creasing seriously, "Definitely not McGonagall's diary. But then…"

He scanned a few lines on the page. On each page, judging by the dark color of the fresh ink, four names had been recently underlined. The teen read each, and felt his eyes widen with each line. When he got to the last one, he couldn't help but whisper aloud. Was it shock? Awe? More like sheer disbelief.

"Godric…Gryffindor?"

_**981 AD. Ravenclaw Manor.**_

Each was due to arrive at noon. So, naturally, each arrived late.

Punctuality came second to making an entrance. Nobles valued image as much as precious metals, and sought to make as grandiose an entrance as possible. The time it took to make such an appearance always forced a late arrival, much to the chagrin of the host. Rowena would argue that one's image would be bolstered by arriving on the promised time, but she also suspected she would have been one of the late-arrivals if the meeting had not been in her home. This was why she was the first to arrive in the Great Hall on what would promise to be a historic day.

Descending the stairs from the solar, Rowena reflected how small her 'Great' Hall truly was. It was narrower than the ones her peers had built, with floor length windows set up along oak walls, just below the arching oak ceiling charmed to reflect the fluffy white clouds the dotted today's summer sky. The thresh on the smooth slate floors brushed aside from her dark green dress. Despite the lack of winter chill, Rowena had told her servants that the thresh should not be removed; it was no longer her own life she risked if she fell.

She carefully sat herself down at the head of a long, hawthorn table. The arching window nearby gave her a comfortable view of the front yard, and of a green and silver carriage pulling up to the front steps. Like a monk of some dark church, Salazar Slytherin stepped out in his usual black robes, lined with silver, and a balding head of hair. Two grey and calculating eyes swept over the manor with surprised admiration, a long boney finger counting the outside embellishments. Rowena suppressed a snort. Symbols of wealth impressed her colleague too much for her liking. She was relieved when the thin wizard, lowered his wrist, and seemed to float up the stairs and into the manor.

Soon after, in a sweep of warm colors, yellow lace, and earthy wooden spokes, the second carriage arrived. The door swung open, and out stepped Helga Hufflepuff, the woman with the toothiest smile, the reddest curly hair, and the biggest dimples on sun-tanned cheeks. The plump and cheery Helga adjusted her honey-colored dress, and turned around to talk to her driver. The poor man looked a bit under the weather, and she seemed to be encouraging him to go on. He left graciously, and Helga proceeded into the manor with a hurried look on her face, and a fevered pace to her feet.

Salazar was ushered into the Great Hall by one of the chamber maids. While keeping his traditional placid stare, he politely bowed to the lady of the house.

"Lady Ravenclaw," Salazar said in a voice as smooth as snakeskin. He was always the formal one, only ever making one exception in his lifetime.

"Greetings to you too, Lord Slytherin." While preferring the direct approach, Rowena humored the elder wizard. "You've turned out to be the most punctual of our guests. That speaks in your favor."

He nodded, and sat down two chairs away.  
"However," Rowena said, "late is still _late_."

"I am here, am I not?" Salazar held up his hands defensively, "and I fail to see the others as of yet. I was under the impression that being tardy was only harmful in groups. Where is the group, I wonder?"

"Coming!" Helga rushed in before Rowena could respond to the rude remark. "So sorry to hold anyone up, driver got a bit ill on the way here. Took all the poor man's strength not to wretch on the way here!"

Any ire Rowena had melted. "Helga!" she said.

Her dark blue eyes grew wide with joy as her childhood friend approached the table. Rowena rose from her chair to properly greet her, only to have Helga rush over and subdue her with a hug to force her back into her seat.

"Don't you trouble your ankles over me, dearie," Helga teased, sitting beside Rowena, "would never forgive myself if I made your condition more trouble than need be."

"But tis' so good to see you, Helga!" Rowena said, giving her another squeeze.

"Ah, I know dear," Helga said, careful to hold back on her famous bear-hug, and finally resting her palms on Rowena's stern shoulders, "How have you been feeling? How goes the babe?"

"Active," Rowena said with a smile, putting a hand on her swollen midriff. "Half the day I swear a cricket has made a home of my stomach, ever since the third month precisely."

Salazar coughed loudly. "Tis' wonderful, I'm sure, but we _do_ have more pressing matters to discuss. Surely personal news can wait…"

"Personal news is all I have while we are merely three," Rowena said, without missing a beat. "Business cannot, and will not, be discussed without Godric."

Salazar visibly wilted.

"Then you have quite a wait ahead of you my lady." He sighed. "Godric's sense of timing…changes."

Rowena frowned, sitting back in her chair. "He's gathering rice for a big entrance, perhaps? He consumes attention like a prized pig."

Rowena sighed and turned back to her window just as a gold and maroon carriage pulled away from the manor. Startled, she swung her head back to the Hall doors just as they were pushed open by two bulky hands. True to his sense of dramatics, the world's finest Duelist arrived at that very moment.

"Greetings fellow Lord and Ladies!" Said a proud voice.

Godric Gryffindor was an ostentatious man, who practically invented the art of making an entrance. Dressed in fine (imported) red fabrics & furs, he was near impossible to ignore from his dark, large leather boots, scarlet surcoat lined with glistening gold, and finely pressed red cape emblazed (again, lined in gold) with the family crest embroidered on the outer side. His face was flushed just at the cheeks, obscured by a thick curly red beard that perfectly matched the thick, wavy red hair on top of his head. His playful green eyes met each and every startled glance of his friends with beaming pride. If Rowena had to declare who had made the most obnoxiously big entrance, she'd probably pick the Englishmen in front of her.

"You're late," Salazar broke the silence first, smiling wryly.

"And I doubt you fared much better, old friend," Godric Gryffindor said, striding over to the one lone chair directly opposite of Rowena with a flurry of his cape, "and I bet your so crass because you spent your allotted manners on our lady friends."

"Even so," Rowena recovered and spoke again, austere features leering first at the Cornish duelist, than sweeping to the other two guests, "you are the one who forced us all to bide our time. In fact, all of you kept your host waiting. I could wax some very choice words on the punctuality of all of you."

Salazar held up a hand, "But I am sure you wish to wax on the more pressing matters? Perhaps I should bring up the boy that was tarred and feathered yesterday for the 'heinous' crime of changing his mother's hair color?"

"Now, now, no need to be crass," Helga said, "we all agreed we'd _calmly _discuss this."

Rowena sighed in surrender, but kept her voice stern, "Very well. Though dramatics are hardly necessary, Salazar."

He shook his head. "They are quite necessary, Lady Ravenclaw, as they past few days have more than proven. In my domain alone I have been privy to persecution that has only existed in my nightmares."

"To children," Helga added, putting a hand to her chest. "Mercy, even I haven't been through such brutal beatings as a child."

"It's like a war out there," Godric added, "or at least our non-magical brothers would claim it to be such. I think we're completely justified to make it just that, unless we want our future generation to be our last."

Rowena felt her breath catch, and her hand fly to her belly.

"My thoughts exactly," Salazar said while putting a bony finger under his chin. "This is a battle without a doubt, but I'm afraid attacking outright would be foolish, and harmful to our social standings."

"So we protect our nobility while another girl is drowned in the lake?" Godric said.

Salazar turned and stared down his childhood friend.

"No, I'm not." He insisted, "I'm saying that we cannot simply rush out in broad daylight, wands blazing. It would be the death of us!"

Godric sprang to his feet, bracing himself on the table ."I will _not_ simply stand aside while people suffer in my sight! If you don't have a better solution, than stay out of my way!"

"You'll help no one by acting like a fool!" Rowena shouted, "Like it or not, Salazar stands in the right. If we simply rush straight into a war it won't be just our lives at risk. Your relatives, your friends, and your very servants will suffer simply for being _associated_ with you."

"I feel your pain Godric," Helga said, "It breaks my heart to see these poor little ones suffer so needlessly, but it's also important to protect our own circles. We have to be strategic."

Godric looked beyond frustrated, and Rowena didn't blame him. Of the four of them, Godric was the hero, or the one who wanted to be a hero. He always spoke of his accomplishments like a story-teller weaving a fairytale, and showed great pride in aiding the peasants of his domain in the most laborious tasks. But now his domain was filled with innocents being tortured and hunted, and he couldn't so much as raise a finger for them without risking his friends and loved ones. Rowena was sure that the past few weeks were a living Hell for the Cornish duelist, and she was also sure Salazar knew as well. The older wizard had called the meeting between the four of them after a visit to Gryffindor Manor, and wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Guess I filled my quota for being stupid today," Godric said. "Forgive me old friend. I simply hate feeling so helpless. I'm on edge to do _something_."

Salazar nodded.

"We can do something. "He said proudly. "Something I think should have been done ages ago. Why don't we simply separate our kin from their oppressors?"

"You're not even going to attempt a harmonious relationship?" Helga said.

Salazar's brows lowered themselves on his thin face. "These filthy muggles have been exceptionally clear in their dislike of our people. Why should we socialize amongst those who wish us death?"

Rowena inwardly chuckled, _because we do so all the time in our own circles._

"Do not be so quick to place all the blame on our non-magical neighbors," Helga said. "The reactions are out of fear for their lives. Most of these acts are, indeed, harmless accidents, but what can you expect from a culture so terrified of the unknown?"

Salazar was still frowning.

"It is a completely _natural _reaction," Helga insisted.

"It is a lack of vision." Salazar countered.

"But it is not only fear," Helga said, hands on her hips. "Be fair, Salazar, the inexperience of the younger witches and wizards is dangerous."

Salazar winced, but regained his composer after a pause.

"Regardless of causes," he said. "We've established that this problem, if remained unchecked, would be a disaster. The next logical question is this: what should be done?"

"Teach them to fight?" Godric said. "If we can't intercede, maybe they can. A few days or so and I can have the little tykes up and swinging."

Salazar quirked a brow. "Are you willing to do so in secret?"

"No…"

"Then we're back to square one." Salazar said, "What will those miscreants think if we're treating their least favorite people how to fight?"

"Not exactly." Rowena said, a sly grin on her face, "I believe we have our solution between the two of you."

An eyebrow rose from the three remaining witch and wizards. Rowena continued, each word coming off slow and purposeful.

"Again I agree with Salazar." She said, "It obvious that coexistence in the current state is impossible. However, I believe Godric's thoughts are not completely in the wrong. These children need to be taught _something_."

"What exactly?" Helga said.

"It's a simple cause and effect problem!" Rowena beamed, feeling her chest swell with pride. "To remove the effect, you remove the cause. The problem is a lack of control from the young ones, and the effect is mass spread panic and violence."

"Remove the ignorance…" Helga started.

"Stop the violence," Salazar finished.

Rowena nodded enthusiastically. "And how does one remove ignorance?"

"Education," Salazar said.

Godric suddenly smacked his hand on the table. Rowena jumped, and was momentarily reminded of the Clydesdales Helga kept back in wales.

"Teach them to use their magic!" Godric said enthusiastically. "Ravenclaw, you are truly the brightest witch of your age."

Rowena was beside herself with delight, very surprised that it was Godric of all people who figured it out. Not that he was foolish, but she'd never caught him nose deep in a book either. But Rowena did guess that a battle hero would need to have a gift for strategy, and thus allot him some useful deduction skills.

"Correct." She said, "These children are simply suffering from a lack of education on their abilities. Teach them how to properly control themselves, and I can guarantee the attacks will decrease."

"You're not suggesting we teach them are you?" Salazar said dryly. "Can't we simply hire a tutor for them? My parents sent me to several in my studies."

"Your mother also sat on quite a dowry," Godric blurted out, "and even I can see the expenses in hiring teachers for such a _large_ group."

Salazar flinched. Family wealth apparently didn't count as a secret.

"But you're still right," Godric said, "I'm a duelist, not a formal educator."

"I think you can," Helga said confidently. "Who really can be trained to educate children in magic than the most accomplished witches and wizards? "

"That's true…" Godric said absently mulling over the idea in his head. "This could be done if we all pitched in."

"Where?" Salazar asked. "Teachers need a school. And bringing them into our personal homes would attract too much attention."

"I have a thought," Rowena said with a grin, tapping her diadem with one finger. "Before my husband died, he left me a decaying castle nestled in the Highlands. It needs some fixing, but it's perfectly capable of housing large bodies of students."

Salazar put a hand to his locket.

"All those mountain ranges might be able to hide a large building," he said with a gleam in his eyes. "And no one civilized ventures too close to it. This could work."

"Rowena," Helga said, putting her hand on Rowena's tapping hand. "It's your land and your property. Why don't you help restore the castle?"

"I can provide the funds." Rowena said slowly, "but it's going to need some renovations…"

"That's what I mean." Helga pushed, squeezing her friend's hand. "You should design those changes. It's only fair since it's your castle."

Rowena gasped softly. The intimidating idea swam in her head, poking and prodding at all the holes in her confidence. Rowena's experience in architecture and design was small, as her husband kept her out of the planning room when he redesigned the castle. While she had managed to swipe his floor plans for perusal, could she really bring the mass of broken brick back to life on her own?

"I'm not sure." Godric said, voicing her insecurities aloud.

Her thoughts interrupted, Rowena turned her stern gaze to Godric. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not sure," Godric repeated, hands clasped together on the table, "You are with child Ravenclaw, your thoughts are probably ocupyed as it is. How can you design a whole floor plan?"

Rowena no longer felt insecure. She felt mad.

"Are you daring to call me incapable?" She said.

"You're not incapable, with _child_." Godric stressed, "Good God, Rowena, you have a human life to bring into the world and to take care of, how much more room do you have for outside work?"

Something old and twisted grew hard in Rowena's chest. Hate, and hurt from ages ago bubbled back to her mind like a tar pit. She narrowed her dark blue eyes dangerously at the Cornish Duelist and clenched her fists, rising to her feet and meeting his incredulous stare.

Her statement, while low and even, was cacophonous in the silence their exchange had garnered from their peers.

"Challenge accepted, Godric Gryffindor." She said pensively, "This castle will be awe-inspiring when I'm done, and will stand the test of time itself."

Another silence followed as Godric and Rowena were locked in a steely glare. The witch and wizard stood on two extreme ends across the expanse of the wooden table, locked in social warfare of old prejudice, and sheer rebellious pride. Rowena's dark blue eyes refused to budge, and she only moved to pull a strand of deep black hair out of her face. Godric refused to move either, and only narrowed his eyes at the woman in a clear state of confusion.

From the corner of her eyes, she could see that Salazar was watching her with keen interest, before he suddenly stood up, breaking the intense silence.

"She won't be actually building the school, Godric, and if you truly do protest I know an architect that can split the ordeal with her; and he'll come cheap."

Rowena frowned. Still, it seemed to settle Godric's ire. He sighed and sat back down with a nod. So she nodded too, not above sharing credit.

"So," Helga said happily, "we'll have a design, we have a place to build, and we have people willing to teach. Now we need funds."

"That's simple enough," Salazar said, "if we pool our wealth, we'll have more than enough to fund this endeavor."

Helga grinned, looking at her friend with excited blue eyes. Rowena beamed back, while hiding a large dose of fear. She had just roped herself into redesigning a crumbling building in the _highlands _just because the most boisterous of the four of them dared her to. She was going to be impossibly busy for quite some time.

Rowena sat back down in her chair. "You all are free to stay the night, but we must work as soon as possible. We have little time, and more to do than any wizard has in so long…"


	2. For the Good of Whom?

Oh the agonizing wait.

Hey everybody, sorry for the long wait.I was writing this sucker up during finals, and that means my time had to be carefully allotted. After that, I caught a cold just as my beta finished reading it. So, now that I'm back in health and off the study wagon, here's more of the crazy stuff that comes out of my head.

Enjoy, and look for the oneshot coming next! ^^

Disclaimer once again: All products of Harry Potter and the Potterverse are property of J.K Rowling, Bloomsbery Publishing and Arthur . I use them here not in hopes of making money but on a strict entertainment standard.

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_**II**_

_**For The Good of Whom?  
**_

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_**981 AD, Ravenclaw Land in Scottish Highlands; Ravenclaw Wagon.**_

"Surely you jest, Lady Ravenclaw."

"I don't joke," Rowena said. "Are you implying that you do?"

"N-no!" Charles Bennett, Salazar's 'hired architect, stuttered under his turban and tugged worriedly at his white beard. "No, not at all Lady Ravenclaw."

"Good." the Scottish noble said. She put one white fingered hand over the unrolled scroll, the other over her swollen abdomen. "Then shall we start again?"

While Salazar was more than capable of making the Ravenclaw study transportable, he could not hope to bottle the tension that was forming within it. He had known full well that another architect would bring problems. Rowena always struck him as the proud sort, and no genius ever liked to hear their masterpiece questioned. In accordance, Rowena did not look pleased and was tapping her nails unceremoniously on her work surface.

"Moving staircases?" Charles repeated, wringing his navy robes between boney fingers. "You want the stairs to swing about?"

Charles had the unfortunate curse of second guesses, especially with anything he didn't personal draw up. More to the point, he was used to muggle architect, strictly, and Rowena had decided the best looking design was one that defied the natural laws of gravity.

Rowena nodded. "Periodically. The tower as it stands is too small and too narrow to make steps to each and every room, nor to accommodate the rooms you wish to have dispersed within. 'Tis either this or we strike down the brick work entirely and start anew, and that would take months to accomplish."

"And would be costly." Salazar added, "Much _too_ costly."

"And the practicality of my solution is hard to argue with," Rowena said.

Salazar grinned. Rowena had been proving to be a woman after his own heart these past three months. Despite being six months with child, Rowena had managed to stay ahead of the building project quite handsomely. Having the privilege to see her designs ahead of time, he saw money saved in practically every corner of her design. While practicality had not crossed her mind in these sketches, each and every scroll showed preserved funds. It was cost efficient and beautiful in design; it was, if he choose to be unsubtle, brilliant.

But the one thing Rowena had difficulty saving was time. Her work spoke of artistic vision, but all great works took quite a bit of time to shape and perfect. But each minute they spent sculpting was one more minute a future wizard would be hunted for their natural talents. While the elder of the four had no intentions of rushing forward with a flimsy design, he understood that there was a dire need for haste. The added pressure meant they had to scale back, and that was where the ever nervous but highly efficient Charles Bennett entered the picture.

The twitchy, scrawny, dark-eyed man had studied his craft well for 20 years and had worked himself cozily up many social ladders. His designs were not aesthetically pleasing, but they were strong, sturdy and practical for their massive sizes. They stood as both a foil and a catalyst to the ever visionary Rowena, and were worth their weight since he was agreeing to work for half his normal price.

"But..." the artistic witch relented, sitting back down. "My tower still leaves something to be desired. Not enough room for the texts, not anywhere near enough room..."

"Well, erm, I do have... A thought on that..." Charles was grasping for straws, though he settled for his beard. "Just let me find my scrolls."

Like a child eager to escape the scrutinizing gaze of a parent, Charlies slipped from the wagon. Salazar's eyes narrowed, lips thinning in sharp disapproval.

"Oh Charles. "Salazar stopped the architect at the door. "I had your _wand_ inspected. I believe our accord will arrive at its conclusion very soon."

Charles froze at the door. Salazar crossed the gap between them, three steps in total, to the petrified builder. He clapped a hand on Charlie's shoulder, and spoke in a low voice.

"My condolences," he said. "How mortifying it must be to function without our most basic skills..."

Charles swallowed hard. "I'll be fine... won't I?"

"So long as your project does not puncture my own funds excessively. " Salazar said. "Yes, I do believe you will have little discomfort from that."

Charles let out a visible shudder, and dashed out the door. His footsteps in the grass faded, and Salazar finally closed the door to the wagon; he and Lady Ravenclaw were now the only two souls in the room.

The room itself was spacious, despite the small travel wagon it was enchanted to fit in. The floors were hard wood, with scattered blue and black rugs of fine make. The walls and ceiling were of the same make as it's castle home, same woods and same pillars holding it up. Rowena had tacked failed drawings of the castle all over the walls, and a few designs with specific sections circled in dark black ink. She'd even selected some fabrics to use for furniture, if they could find someone to make it, and had hung up a long scroll over in the corner, where she was musing over names. It was all intricate, all well planned, and all from one woman.

Salazar had never really thought about Rowena outside of business. This was partially due to the presence of her husband, looming like a hunter over his prized deer, and also due to the noticeable bulge in her dress. Anyone who tried to puzzle out Mrs. Ravenclaw only ended up puzzled out of their rational minds and thus she never remarried. She was lady-like, and yet severe as a grammar instructor. She had a no-nonsense approach to her own ambitions, and took none from the rest of the world around her, but she took company in others who had no such thoughts. Most puzzling of all, the wealthy lady took no pride in her inherited fortune on Ravenclaw's death, and instead treated it as a cross to bear. The only part about her that made any sense was a definite lack of humility, as the woman eagerly accepted praise and prestige as it was handed to her.

However, in these past months in her company, Salazar was starting to see a very secretive woman under the long lake of black hair, and elegant appearance as well. The austere face was like a marble mask; lacking in soft features, yet statuesque in its smoothness. It wasn't beautiful by conventional means, as her face still held startlingly severe features. Her cheekbones were high, with a jutting chin and very large dark blue eyes. But, as he noted the black hair curling around her face, Salazar could still detect faint traces of beauty around that porcelain mask of a face. The way she carried herself, completely engrossed in her charts, was quite feminine; and she seemed to exude a powerful aura that carried to all who came near. She was a formidable woman, and utterly brilliant, but something was very much kept hidden under those ebony lashes.

After watching her for several minutes, Salazar approached Rowena carefully. Rowena's appearance had never really crossed his mind before. He had prided himself on being a professional wizard, and not letting his masculine-nature get the better of him. But the four wizards had been spending an insane amount of time together preparing the school, and he was completely alone with her. This forced the elder wizard to let his eyes wander over her figure, even with child, and for said man to to remember that he had been entertaining the idea of marriage for a few years now.

Drawing closer to the Scottish witch, a medley of questions shot through Salazar's head. Should he approach her in this state? Should he hide his hairline? Dust off his rings? He was feeling his nerve slip, something he strove to avoid, and stopped mid-step.

_This is absolutely ludicrous,_ he scolded himself. _It's a simple matter of being friendly. Besides, such a match would be highly beneficial for her. Not much she can accomplish as a lone female, even with her stature as a Ravenclaw..._

Feeling a sliver of resolve, he finally crossed to Rowena's desk.

"...Charles is certainly behaving like a muggle." Seemed starting on a complaint was his strong point. He mentally reminded himself to work on that.

Rowena's head drew up in a questioning manner, frowning. "No such thing Salazar. He's just being too careful; he lacks vision."

Salazar's brows rose, annoyance seeping into his expression. he had forgotten to take in how downright stubborn she could be. But he had a goal, and decided this battle wasn't worth the effort. "As you were then, 'tis not important anyhow."

"I agree." Rowena lowered her head back to her charts, dipping her quill in the ink for yet another correction.

And he lost her again. Salazar inwardly growled, arms crossed and nails digging into his clothes. He could twist knights, princes, other nobles and even a shaky turban-wearing architect into doing his mind's most crafty desire. But, for the life of him, he could not keep Lady Ravenclaw's attention for more than five seconds.

"Rowena?"  
"Unless it concerns the project, I have no time for it Salazar."

"It _does_." Salazar decided for a much more... gentle approach. He strolled over to the front of the table, spreading his hands over the wood and leaning in over the top. "Your designs; these are absolutely brilliant. Brilliant and beautiful..."

Rowena's quill continued to scribble quickly over the parchment, nicking out one misplaced brick in her work. But, from behind a thin curtain of her dark hair, the elder wizard detected a satisfied grin."Thank ye, Salazar. You flatter me."

"I'm not in the habit to allot flattery to anyone, "he said with confidence, drawing just an inch closer. "I have yet to happen upon more drawings of such merit and skill. Even Charles has yet to impress me this thoroughly."

"I find that easy to believe." Rowena said, stopping her quill, and giving Salazar and challenging stare. "Your previous statement indicates a small amount of displeasure between you, given your dislike. of the muggles."

Sharp as always. He felt his nerves attempt to crawl back in that moment, but he silenced them. "I would loathe to say there is 'displeasure' between me and Charles, Rowena; we just have a interesting agreement of sorts."

"Apparently so," Rowena noted, sticking her hand under her chin. "Sounds like a very _special_ relationship."

"Less so, really," salazar spoke quietly, and leaned in close. "I have yet to really find a _special _relationship."

"I see." Rowena's interest finally waned, returning to her charts once more. "I fail to see what this has to do with my designs."

"So do I."

Both inhabitants of the wagon craned their necks towards the door. Godric stood at the entrance, bulk blocking more than it's fair share of the sun, and eyes narrowed to two green slits. Any menacing effect this might have had, however, was broken by the impish smirk stretched over his wide, bearded face. As he stood there, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary, Salazar felt his first few pricks of embarrassment flood over his features. Was it possible for the earth to devour someone on demand?

"Come come old friend." Godric grinned. "Looks to me like the artist is lost in the moment."

_**981 AD, Scottish Highlands, Future sight of Hogwarts.**_

"I don't wish to discuss it."

"But I do, and I get bored talking to myself."

Godric could never help his sense of timing, nor could he help himself in this particular situation. It wasn't often one caught his childhood friend pouting like a spoiled child.

Salazar's gaunt face was pulled down in a severe frown, eyes narrowed. He had chosen a discarded log near the edge of a giant forest surrounding the spot as a chair, and was slouching in an attempt to curl up inside himself. The final straw came from his sinewy arms, crossed over his chest. The whole collective image was all too much for the cornish duelist to bear with a straight face.

"Then converse with the _trees_," Salazar droned.

"Can't." Godric shrugged harmlessly. "All they want to talk about is wood-rot, and that gets even more boring."

That coaxed out a small smile at least. Salazar sighed, leaning forward with his clasped hands pressed against his chin. Godric felt a pang of sympathy for him, and decided that he had taken enough levity at his expense. He sat himself down on the opposite end of the log, gold-trimmed clothes mingling with the green grass, and rested his broad elbows on his knees.

"Talk to me old friend," he said. "No conflict goes away while it sits in pained silence."

Salazar glanced at him sideways. "Did you not play witness to the whole debacle?"

"Partially, but I admit to being confused," Godric said. "You attempted to court the lady?"

"Unsuccessfully," Salazar said. "I suspect she saw through my actions to the intentions, and cut me from the conversation post-haste."

"So I did see correctly," Godric mused, looking up to the sky. "So... you fancy Rowena? It's a nice match; the both of you are awfully severe..."

"That's only because you refuse to stay serious," Salazar shot back with a smirk. "But that doesn't mean the rest of us are 'severe.'"

"Could have fooled me. You frown so often, I'd think it your natural face."

"I..." he cut himself off with a sigh. "Godric, please. Does the monumental task we have before us reach you at all? Does the surplus of soon-to-be scholars resonate with you at all?"

Godric's smile seemed to slowly fall, the weight of the world sinking back on his massive shoulders. "More than any of you know."

Godric had turned his gaze from his childhood friend, back to the unfinished castle. The walls were practically newborn; fresh, reaching up into the sky with frail fingers. A few more weeks of brickwork and it would mature with broad spires scraping the clouds like a man plucking apples from a tree, but it resembled no such thing now. Godric wished it all done at that moment, wished for it to be finished more than anything in the world.

"A stronghold defends better than an unfinished pile of stones," Godric said. "It's the difference between a knight and a squire."

"Godric..."

"But we're nowhere near done." The Cornish wizard lamented, "Each loose brick, unfinished rock, and building block yet to be placed is yet another lost lad or lass to me, Salazar. Yet another poor sod taken prisoner by local rumors and paranoid fears, and only for their god-given talent. Even a declaration from the church has done little. The longer this project takes, the more people I feel I've let down."

Godric's despondent train of thought collapsed at a touch to his shoulder. He craned up his head to see Salazar, now standing, putting a friendly hand on Godric's shoulder. His friend may have had a reputation for keeping a dour expression, but he looked concerned in that moment for Godric.

"It's obvious that the difficulty of this situation has affected you worse than the rest of us," Salazar smiled. "If your antics are how you keep your wits about you, than I shall not be the one to pull you apart."

Godric smirked. "Thank you. I'll attempt to be more discreet I suppose; dragging everyone else into my madness is probably inconsiderate."

Salazar nodded, rather proud of himself, and returned to a casual stance, both hands clasped behind his back. Godric glanced sideways at the wizard.

"Now about that display between you and Lady Ravenclaw..."

And just like that, the frown was back.

"No jests this time, you have my word!" Godric held up his hands defensively. "I simple cannot fathom what went amiss. Both of you are of sharp tongue, and have such structure to your world; such a thing should have been easy."

"Too much structure equates little room to err, my friend," Salazar finally admitted. "I overestimated Rowena's tolerance of adoration. She simply grew bored of me."

Godric nodded. "I see. Well, I suspect even someone of all charm would bore her; she tends to tear through people like parchment."

It occurred to Godric that he never gave Rowena that much thought. He and Rowena knew each other more through her husband, now passed on, and had made a decent connection with the widow Ravenclaw only recently. As of now she was a fellow benefactor, teacher, and friend to the unyielding-ball-of-optimism that was Miss Hufflepuff. She was also an expectant mother, but he couldn't say much about her beyond that. He couldn't even recall for someone what color her eyes were!

Dark blue, he soon saw, as the lady in question stepped out from her east-set wagon. had decided to take a break, and was letting the wind ruffle her hair and cotton skirts.

"There she is." Salazar sounded winded. "Wonder what's on her mind?"

"Something complicated, I'd wager," Godric broke his stare long enough to answer. "Her husband had to be some kind of miracle... genius... of the sort."

"Brilliant, as usual," Salazar playfully chastised his friend. "Though, while I pay not much head to gossip, there is a strong rumor that she only wed the man because he bested her in chess."

"Well there you go then!" Godric said. He gave his friend what he intended to be a hearty pat to the shoulder, but ended up making the thin man teeter. "You're practically an artisan at chess!"

Salazar rubbed his left shoulder. "I'm only better than you; though endorsement never hurts..."

Godric rolled his eyes before resting his gaze back on Lady Ravenclaw. Figuring he had distracted the elder wizard long enough, Godric pushed himself back to his feet.

"Look, Rowena has a good deal on her mind I'm sure." Godric explained. "She's more than likely just too distracted to really hear a man's advances. Just wait until she doesn't have an entire school on her shoulders."

Salazar only nodded, resting clasped fingers under his chin. Godric really did believe that Rowena was just distracted. She was lost somewhere in her thoughts, reverting her to a rather peaceful looking torpor. It was rather adorable to the red-haired wizard and he couldn't help but muse on what caused her to daydream so. It might have been worth it, trying to peel back a few of those dark layers...

His musings were, however, interrupted by an explosion.

Both men turned to the Hufflepuff wagon, which had a strange green smoke billowing out the blown-open door. The green, noxious, gas smelled faintly of rotten eggs and came out in thick clumps. Both men waved the fumes away as they approached the gold and white wagon. Rowena, with a look of utter shock, hiked up her own skirts and dashed over to her friend's temporary nest. The plump Hufflepuff herself hobbled out of the wagon, hair now a ruddy brown, and holding a very twisted and sick looking carrot in her hand.

She waved away the smell as her friends drew near, blinking in the sudden sunlight. Rowena was the first to meet the disheveled woman, the noblemen bringing up the rear.

"Helga, what did you do?" Rowena demanded. "Please tell me you are not experimenting with green fire again; we're surrounded by trees!"

"Oh goodness no..." Helga said. "I'll not be a fool through the same blunder, dear. This was an entirely new gamble."

"Involving that sorry piece of vegetation, I wager?" Salazar quipped.

"You mean this?" She held up the mutilated carrot. "Sadly, yes. I'm going to be feeding quite a few youngins if this works out, and I don't think I can simply whip up a fully functional meal for all of 'em. This was supposed to be a solution..."

"And how does a bad carrot fix that?" Godric said, eying the vegetable with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Helga shook her head. "This little fella's just a casualty of war, Godric. I wish to be able to make a meal and duplicate it hundreds of times. Problem that arises is that the duplicate of the object is usually smaller. The sustenance would be lost to high heaven, and I would be back at square one. I need to come up with a charm to completely and utterly replicate it..."

Godric snorted.

"What?" Helga was not amused. "You don't think I can do it?"

"'Tis not an offense against you Helga; I don't believe anybody can do it." Godric held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "It just sounds too fantastical."

"Are you not an Animagus, Godric?" Rowena questioned sharply. Sensing a small conflict, Salazar took a step back.

"...yes..." Godric's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why do you ask?"

"Because an Animagus, and a wizard to boot," Rowena said, "just said that something was too fantastical."

"...Point taken."

Helga thumped Godric on the chest, wielding the mutilated carrot like a sharp-tipped sword. "You just tuck in and watch, oh ye of little faith. I'll have each of your little sprouts growing on a full meal before this school gets its first pupil."

A large promise, considering she was currently wielding the 'fruit' of her labor against him. Still, the famous Godric Gryffindor could never back down from a challenge or a bet, directly given or not. That little love tap was a challenge to his honor, as far as he was concerned, and it was only fair he meet it with equal zeal. He pushed the root off his chest with one finger, green eyes burning down playfully at the woman before him.

"And if you don't?" the duelist said.

Helga was quiet in contemplation. Finally, resting the carrot on her hip, she gave her answer. "I'll hand-polish your armor and eat this monstrosity of a vegetable. But what if I win? I'll not risk my neck lest you put something on the line. It's only fair."

"I was getting to that girl, don't worry your head," Godric said, holding out his hand. "If you do succeed, I will lower myself on the ladder and deal with the washing for a weak, _and_ eat your mistake. Deal?"

With barely a thought, the witch took his hand. "Deal."

"Oh not you too, Helga..." Rowena sighed, hand on her forehead. "I had hoped you were above these antics."

"'Tis not the end of life as we know it for me to strike a harmless gambit, Rowena." Godric said. "Besides, now today is worth a record in my journal."

"Worth... worth your journal?" Rowena's eyes narrowed. marching straight up to Godric. "You struck a bargain that has only the lightest attachment to our main goal, and that's worth more note than your trek through that forest to fortify the border?"

"Well, nothing happened worth note." Godric shrugged. "I found tracks, trails but most of the beasts are content to stay back. I did find out that a centaur clan is living in there, but I was only able to leave a message for a chat; I would have loved a face-to-face meeting."

Salazar snorted. "Muggles first, now centaurs. What's next, Grindylows?"

"That'd be the lake; sorry, old friend," Godric said. Salazar only groaned.

"That was still of more beneficial value than this," Rowena insisted.

Salazar finally decided that an intervention would be necessary. Carefully, he slid between Rowena and Godric, rushing to the defense of his old friend."Madame Ravenclaw, are we not doing this entire project out of some personal sense of duty? I find that even the most charitable acts have something selfish behind them. Godric did his part and secured the woods, and the lake. We can't all be so saintly that we fail in making a memory or two."

"I do not object to the 'making of a memory,'" Rowena said.

"No, you just wonder where my priorities are, yes?" Godric said with a laugh. "Relax Salazar, she's just checking where my mind is in this. I'll admit, the fact that I choose to praise a bet over my responsibilities is foolish of me."

Rowena quirked a brow, a silent way to question why.

"But." Godric smiled. " I find that a little nonsense now and then makes those important moments worth just a little bit extra. Don't you think?"

That said, the two male wizards drifted off from the wagon; Helga had work to do, and Rowena had slowly gone back to her wagon. Godric glanced over his shoulder to see the dark-haired witch watching him curiously, face still very contemplative. Yes, he had never given much thought over the one of the smartest minds of his age, but now she would be giving him a good deal of thought.

At least, he liked to to think so.

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**_To Be Continued..._**


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